


The North American War

by AuthorReinvented



Series: The Fall of Canada [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: EXCITING, Other, Québec, Sequel, War, fall of Canada
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 18,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorReinvented/pseuds/AuthorReinvented
Summary: Sequel to "The Fall Of Canada"When the personification of the second largest country in the world disappeared without a trace, a war broke out, and Canada fell not long after.Now, less than a year after Canada fell, the only hope of seeing Canada again rests on the shoulders of a newborn nation, as inexperienced as he is cocky.Québec is determined to bring Canada back, but it won't be possible alone.
Series: The Fall of Canada [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643794
Comments: 42
Kudos: 40





	1. It Begins Again

The day that the personification of Canada disappeared, several separate things happened in quick succession, and changed the course of the war.

The first thing that happened was the freak rainstorm in Washington DC, America's capitol. With no previous sign of rain, or predictions of a storm, it began to pour. No one could have known that the rain started at the exact moment America felt his brother's death, but it soon became clear that the rain would not stop. At first it seemed that the rain would stop in a few hours, then perhaps, in a few days. After the first week, the stubborn residents of Washington DC, finally gave, and began to evacuate. Houses flooded and homes were left waterlogged and full of ruined furniture. The streets were completely deserted, and there were no wild animals to be seen. even after the residents evacuated, it was another week until the rains finally stopped, and even longer before they could return. 

The second thing that happened was a great wave of magic that exploded outwards from Quebec city. Only the soldiers present at the time, and the personifications of France and the Republic of Seychelles could tell what had caused it. The cause of the magic himself, was unaware of what he causing, sobbing brokenly at the loss of someone he had considered family. England didn't realize that his magic was running wild, but four other beings felt it. The first was Norway, who was visiting Denmark at the time. Norway dropped the ceramic bowl he was holding and it crashed to the ground, splintering into thousands of pieces, as the magic power sent shockwaves though him. The second was Bulgaria, who froze while talking to Romania, the third being to feel the power. Bulgaria felt as though his breath was knocked out of him, and it seemed to Romania that the sky had turned red with magical power. 

The fourth being to feel the power was ancient force of nature, a weathered warrior who had been resting until this moment. When the waves of magical power woke General Winter from his slumber, the being turned toward Canada, only to find the land he had once protected broken by war, and the personification of the country now gone. Too late, General Winter lent his hand to the battle, and a violent snowstorm rolled in from the north, and raged blindly over the land, forcing the America, Russian, French, and all other soldiers to retreat. 

It was Russia, familiar with the great General Winter, who saved Holland, Prussia, America, and the tropical country Cuba from the force of the storm. And it was for Russia that the General Winter finally calmed the storms and stepped back from the war. Yet that was enough. The snowstorm from the north and the rainstorm in the capitol weakened Americas forces, both those fighting and those behind the scenes, and America's boss ceased his attacks against the one thing standing between them and total ownership of Canada. 

The third and final thing that changed the course of the war, was when France gathered up the now-unconscious England and hastily escaped to the UK. So it was that there was only one country left in Quebec to discover the small French country, freshly born from the ruins of the war, and the only thing left of the once great country, Canada.

Seychelles held back her tears and stretched out her hand to the arrogant boy, speaking in his home tongue. "Je suis la République de Seychelles. Enchante, mon petite frere."


	2. Foreboding

America frowned. He had been doing a lot of that since Canada fell, to the point where he had almost forgot how to smile. He knew it wasn't just him, either. France almost never smiled now, and England wore a tired look on his face. America hadn't seen Seychelles in months now, partly due to the fact she spent a lot of time with Quebec, teaching him how to be a country, and partly due to the fact America had not left his house in almost a year. 

His boss hadn't said much went America was carried back to his country, weak, exhausted and grieving. He has sent America to his house and told him to stay there for six months to "rest" which, America had figured, was the nice way to say "You're under house arrest." America had went into the house with no complaints, silently accepting the special government agents who brought food, cleaned his sheets and bathed him. America himself, did nothing. He simply stayed where he was put until an agent moved him so where else.

He only ate when they fed him, with little to no regard to what it was, and spoke even less. The issue only began after the six months suspension had been lifted. His boss had come in person to make a big speech that America knew nothing about, as he ignored his boss's long winded speil. Finally his boss got to the point. He wanted America to speak to the other countries and strengthen relationships again. The sudden attack against his brother and the six months silence had made many of the other countries nervous, and some were consering closing themselves off from America. 

America had refused. When his boss argued, America threw him out of the building and locked the door. It was impossible for his boss to force him to leave the house, as there was no way to beat the country, and eventually, he gave up, mistakenly believing that eventually America would get bored and leave his house. America hadn't, and now five and a half months later, he still hadn't left his house. He had, however, agreed to rebuild his relationships with other countries--providing it was through video call. 

His frown deepened at the obnoxious French voice on the other end. "Speak English!" America snapped, inwardly flinching at reverting to his old bad habit. Despite his nasty tone, none of the other countries said anything, which America suspected was due to the fact that they were all moments from strangling the French country themselves. "Fine." The country with the obnoxious tone said with a deep sigh, as though this request was a huge inconvenience.

"Since you are all too stupid to understand French, I will say it in English." He smirked, and America considered leaving his house for the first time in almost a year and catching a flight to Montreal so he could strangle the other country in person. "You are so not cute." America growled. "My brother must have been on drugs when he bragged about you." This threw the other country off, and he snapped back, a bit too harshly. "I don't want to hear that from the country that destroyed him."

America heard a collective gasp from the rest of the room, and he recalled back, suddenly feeling very sick. There was a crashing sound as France sprug out of his seat, knocking it to the floor. "Québec!" He scolded, real anger in his voice. "That was too far!" Québec sulked. "Whatever." It was China's weary voice that redirected the meeting. 

"Quebec, you had something to tell us?" Québec seemed to perk up. "Ah, yes." He faced the camera directly, looking America right in the eyes. His tone was careless and condescending, as he spoke, but his words were heavy. "I'm going to negotiate to get Ontario back from America." America's eyes widened. "There's no way my boss will agree to that." Quebec's smirk only grew, dangerous and wild. 

"He doesn't have a choice."


	3. Déclaration of War

Seychelles watched Québec with concern after the meeting had ended. "Was that alright?" She asked. Quebec's signature smirk was no longer present on his face. "What, are you doubting me already?" He asked, testily. Seychelles took a step closer to him. "That's not it, I just thought that you weren't going to do that for another half a year." She soothed. "Aren't you rushing things?" 

For a moment it seemed like Quebec was going to brush her off, but he sighed deeply and pulled out a folder from a locked desk drawer. "I have no choice." He said tiredly. "Look what the Intelligence du Québec found." He dropped the folder carelessly into her waiting hands. Seychelles flipped it open, reading fast. She stumbled over some of the words as Québécois French was different than what she knew, but eventually she finished reading. Seychelles gasped at the information. 

"They can't be serious." There was an angry feeling, like bile rising in her throat, choking her. Seychelles was furious. Quebec shrugged, but his voice was serious. "I confirmed it. Besides, even if there is only a chance of this, we need to eliminate it instantly." Seychelles was already buttoning up her uniform. "Of course." She knew it was a personal issue for Quebec due to the many stories Canada had told her about the long-standing rivalry between Quebec and Ontario.

"They fight a lot, but they are actually really good friends." He had told her once. Seychelles felt like she understood now, having spoken to Quebec. When Canada had fallen, she was the only one of his family who could bear to remain in his lands, and she had treated Quebec the same way she treated Canada, as if he was a brother. She learned pretty quickly that Quebec was smarter than he looked, and slowly, through their time working together, Quebec had begun to treat her with a respect he didn't show anyone else.

Québec complained a lot about Ontario but his words neeer matched his tone. Seychelles had yet to hear him say one bad thing about Ontario. She realized that Quebec was watching her assessingly. "What?" she asked. "You just agreed really quickly." He said. Seychelles gave him a small smile. "Well, I do have a personal motive too." "Personal? Just one province won't bring Canada back." Quebec warned.

"I know." Seychelles responded. "Canada had dedicated a small town there to a friend. If they continue with their plan it'll get destroyed. I'm doing this for Prussia." Québec considered this. "That ex-country?" He looked as though he wanted to say something more, but decided against it, only nodding. "Besides," Seychelles continued, a dangerous tone creeping into her voice, "We can't let them turn Ontario into a military fortress."

Québec's eyes flashed with a serious light at these words, but before he could respond, the phone rang and he picked it up. "Oui?" He listened intently, then smirked. "I see." He reverted back to English for the sake of the other. "I refuse. Quebec will not join America. If you refuse to give me Ontario back, then I will take him by force." He said this as though taking back Ontario was effortless.

He listened for a moment more, then responded, condescendingly. "Yes, that is what I am saying. I didn't think I'd have to spell it out for you, but it seems like I underestimated your intelligence." He seems to take pleasure in aggravating the person on the other end of the phone, and Seychelles couldn't help but wonder where he got his personality from. Personally she blamed France and his narcissistic attitude. Or possibly England and his tsundere attitude. Certainly he hadn't got it from Canada. 

Still, Seychelles knew that his arrogant attitude would elect the needed response from the other party. With a devious grin that made him look more like a villain than a savior, Quebec made his official announcement.

"Quebec is declaring war on the United States of America."


	4. From Down Under

No one knew when, or how, Québec, a solitary province surrounded by enemies, had amassed an army, but he had. Within less than a year, Québec had not only still managed to get supplies even after America had blocked all supply routes, but had also managed to keep and maintain a growing force. It shouldn't have been possible, but still, it had been done.

Everyone knew that France was broke because of his part in the war, and there had been no word from the United Kingdoms since the fall of Canada. Holland and his troops had been demolished, and were in no shape to return to war, and despite the willingness to help, neither Seychelles or Cuba had the military force to lend to Quebec for an invasion of this size. 

Despite this, less than 24 hours after Quebec had made the declaration of war, Ontario had been reclaimed. It had been quick, efficient, and almost unnoticeable. Ontario crumbled from within. Quietly, the America soldiers and officials stationed in Ontario and guarding the borders were removed and replaced by Québécois soldiers. By the time official orders with instructions on how to proceed arrived from America, there was only the enemy there to receive it.

As America's boss was unwittingly sending confidential information right to the enemy, a new country arrived on the borders of Ontario to take charge. Even with France and England and his friends out of the picture, Canada had not been abandoned. Now, countries that hadn't been able to move to support Canada, were making their move and sending support to Quebec to make up for it. Canada's allies were Quebec's allies. 

Québec was done hiding, done biding his time. So Québec made his move, reforging Canada's contacts, making new allies. And as Quebec met the helicopter at the landing pad, he met yet another of siblings for the first time, and the reason for the constant supplies and financial support hopped out of the helicopter. 

The other country's decent would have been cool and dramatic if not for the foolish grin on his face. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, adjusted the animal cligging to his shoulder, then saluted smartly to Quebec.

"G'day Mate!"


	5. Admittance

America was angry at Québec. Not only for his suicidal declaration, or even the fact it worked, but because Québec's reckless actions and sudden attack had brought the very person America did not want to see to his door. But maybe even more than this, America hated the fact Québec had given him hope. 

For almost a year he had grieved for his brother, regretted his part in the war, and hidden from the one's to blame. But things were changing now, and if there was even a chance Canada could be brought back, America wasn't going to run away from his problems anymore. So America had decided to face the man outside the door head on, slamming the door open. 

America's boss had been surprised when America opened the door, and it showed on his face briefly, though he quickly recovered. "We need to talk." He said solemnly. America maintained a stone face, but let the man in, but blocking the agents that attempted to follow. For a moment neither of them spoke, both weighing the heavy silence between them, both either unwilling or unable to take the first step. 

Finally America broke the silence, his words clipped and short. "I'm angry at you." He laid the words like a barbed fence between him an his boss, a clear distinction of where he stood, the distance the other should maintain. The president lowered his head. "I know." his action said more than his words, the dip of acknowledgement admitting that he had done wrong, the man who bowed to no-one in America, lowering his head to America. 

But that wasn't enough and America waited, letting the tension in thr room force his boss to break the silence again. "I'm sorry." The words blurted out very unprofessionally, and suddenly more words tumbled out to after, recklessly. "I'm sorry." He repeated the words again, desperately. I wanted to do what I thought was best for America. I didn't want to see the truth of what I was doing. I was wrong."

His boss met America's eyes, and then it was just the two of them. Not America and the President, not a leader and his country, or a boss and his subordinate. Just a man speaking to Alfred, person to person, raw and unprocessed. Perhaps if America's boss had been more formal, had been more collected or official, things would have gone differently.

But America wasn't looking for a formal apology with stiff words and a molded face. He was looking for sincerity, and he found in the other man's regretfilled gaze. "Please, America," His boss begged, tone subdued and tired, "You don't have to forgive me, I won't ask that much." His boss continued, pleadingly. "But for your people, and for yourself, please don't hide anymore."

Even with his shame and guilt, the president's gaze never wavered, looking directly into America's eyes, even as he pleaded. America liked that about him, his inner strength. This was what made him fit to rule the country. Yes, he made mistakes, but it was how he took responsibility that mattered. Still, America would not be so quick to trust him again. 

America gritted his teeth and met his boss's gaze equally, the fire in his boss's eye only a reflection of the fire in his own. "I won't forgive you if you betray me again." America warned. His boss flinched at the word "Betray" but responded in turn, seriously. "This time, I won't make the same mistake." He promised, shakily. "I'll do right by you."

Words and promises meant nothing, and we're easily broken. Even so, America wanted to give his boss a second chance. Afterall, this was the person his citizens had chosen to lead, the person he had chosen to lead. So Amerca didn't say everything he was feeling, only threw himself down into the closest chair, casualty, cooly. His boss watched him go down but neither spoke nor moved. 

Thsi is what America wanted. A meeting on his terms, where he held the power. Something the opposite of lst time. So he savoured the moment for a minute before speaking, his posture careless, but tone sharp and pointed. "What do you want from me?" His boss lit up, if only the smallest bit, a look of grateful relief spreading across his face. His back straightened and his chin wnet up, and his tone became official and proper once more as he made his next declaration. 

"We, the United States of America, need you, Alfred Jones."

America acknowledged this with a short sentence of his own. 

"America needs you too."


	6. Selective Amnesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not an April Fools chapter, just in case you thought it might be

France nearly dropped the phone when he saw who the caller was, alight with excitement. "Oui, Amérique?" He trilled into the phone when he picked up. "This is the first time in forever you 'ave called me! How can I 'elp you?" America's words were hesitant but full of conviction. "I need to go see Québec before this turns into another war, but.." He trailed off, then restarted. "But I don't want to go alone."

France nearly dropped the phone for the second time, he was so surprised. America was leaving his house? Not only that, traveling to Quebec? But France was careful not to betray his true thoughts. "Oui, of course we'll come." America hadn't betrayed any surprise at France's promise, whether it had been that he would go, or that he had promised England as well. But then again, America didn't know about England.

France ran a tired hand through his curls with a sigh as he dialed England's number. France tried outwardly to appear collected. He had to. Both America and England had barely been seen since the event, and from what he had seen of America, he wasn't doing good. And England... France had begun to think it was hopeless.

France, though barely able to feel magic power , had felt it when England cried out, over Canada's crumbling form. But more than seeing the magic, he had seen its affect on England. England had glowed, hair and clothes floating on a non existant updraft, and had screamed. His tears had hung on the air instead on falling, then exploding outwards in a miniature hurricane of wind and tears and magic.

Then England had collapsed, and France had seen his face change, cheeks sinking, bags appearing under the eyes, and his skin seeming tighter and more drawn. Even England's body had seemed to grow thinner and lighter, his hands more fragile. In the end, England was left feeble and unconscious in the aftermath of his breakdown, and he hadn't woken up. 

France remembered how panicked he felt at the time, like he was drowning in quicksand. He remembered the urgent feeling he had gotten that if he hadn't moved then, he would have lost two family members that day. He had a desperate thought that if he got England home, he would get better. He hadn't meant to run out of there, to abandon Québec, and Seychelles and America.

All he had thought about was saving England. But even after they had returned, it had taken England 5 months to wake up, and two more before he could stay conscious long enough to get out of bed. France had thought that England's boss would have kicked him out, or at least demanded distance from England during this time, but when the queen herself met them on the runway, as France pulled the unconscious England out of the plane, she hadn't blamed him or told him to leave. 

France smiled as he remembered the Queen's kind words. "Thank you for keeping care of him." And France had visited, not once or twice, but religiously, devoutly gracing his younger brother's bedside hopefully. He hadn't been there when England woke, but his government had reached out to France shortly thereafter and asked him to come.

And he had. By the time he arrived, England had fallen unconscious for another two weeks, then after that he was conscious for only a day at a time at most, but more often than naught, only hours at a time. But even after England had woke up, and stayed awake, he wasn't fully recovered. He seemed to be the same as usual, back to his bluster, and his usual strength, his same obsession with tea and baking his terrible scones, but...

"What do you want frog?" England grouchily answered the phone. "Ahh, Angleterre, I have just heard from Amerique." France greeted, speaking fast before England hung up on him. "He said he is going to Quebec." "He is?" England's shock showed through his tone. "That America who has been refusing to leave his house is going out?" "Oui." France chuckled a little at England's incredulous tone, but instantly went serious again.

"Angleterre, he wants us to go with him." He began carefully. England sounded flattered as he responded, in his usual tsundere attitude "Well, I suppose I can go with him. Seriously, he's still a child." France bit his lip. He had been afraid of this. "Angleterre.." France pressed, gently. "He is upset because of what 'appended with Canada. " There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line, then England' s genuinely confused question.

"Who?"


	7. Unanswered Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know this is a filler chapter, the good stuff is coming, I swear

"Do you hate me?" America had once asked Canada, in an unusual show of self awareness. "Eh?" His brother had stopped short, purple eyes wide with shock. "I mean, because you're always mistaken for me?" America clarified,knowing that Canada wouldn't hate him for his personality. Really, the question was nothing but reassurance, waiting for his brother to respond "No, of course not!". Followed by a complement about America or something.

But Canada had hesitated a moment too long, and his response was careful. "It's not your fault we look alike. We're twins." Canada had responded, and with that response, something in America's heart sank, like there was a lumb of cast iron weighing on his chest. America had believed that he was liked from the bottom of his heart, but with only a small hesitation, Canada had put a crack in his delusion.

It hurt more because it had been Canada, a nice country. If it had been England or any of the others except Japan really, it wouldn't have made any difference. But it was Canada's carefully phrasing designed not to hurt America's feeling that had hurt the most. Because, at that time "He didn't say no." America breathed the end of his thought out loud, and England stirred in the plane seat next to him, looking up from his crosswords.

"Who didn't say no to what?" He asked curiously. America smiled a little sadly, but shook his head. "Never mind." He hesitated a moment, then asked England. "Hey England, do you hate me?" England's pen froze above the paper for a moment, but he responded fairly quickly. "Of course not." America let out a breath of relief. Yes, that was how it should be. The response was instant and definite. Comforting. 

"Hate is a strong term. It's true that you're annoying sometimes, can't read the mood, are irresponsible and obnoxious, tend to babble on without thinking things through, and don't clean up after yourself, but those are things I dislike about you, not you yourself that I dislike. Although I'd be thrilled if you would change." England continued, relentlessly naming each of America's faults. America suddenly felt less at ease and more annoyed.

"I'm going to the bathroom." He announced cooly, getting to his feet and making his way down the aisle. "Wash your hands when you're done!" England called after him, already engrossed in his crossword again. When America came out of the bathroom, wiping his freshly washed hands on his pants, he ran into France, returning from flirting with the flight attendant, although whether it was the male of female one, or both, America wasn't sure.

"Allo, Amérique, what is on your mind?" France asked softly, draping his arm over America and pulling him into the seat next to France. "Had that mean England done something to upset you?" America shook his head, preoccupied, then asked France. "France, do you hate me?" There was no hesitation to France's reply. "Non, mon garçon, I think you are très magnifique. You are very fun to watch." France's words were light and honest, and America had no doubt he was honest.

France, as always too sharp for America's liking, continued, almost carelessly, "Of course, there are no countries that hate you. Some may fight you, some dislike you or envy you, but no-one hates you, America." France's tone held just enough weight for America to know that France had seen through him. But even so, his mind still wandered back to that time. Back then, Canada had left America's question unanswered, and now, once more, he had done it again.

Canada had fallen because the personification of the country had disappeared, and because of that, Canada had disappeared permanently. But no-one knew why he had gone missing in the first place. Once again, America pressed France for the answer. "France," he asked, and the other country turned his undivided attention on America, "Why did he disappear back when it all started?" He didn't have to specify who he was speaking about, he could tell France knew instantly from the way his hands tightly gripped the seat-arm.

He waited, almost desperately for the answer, but not even France had the answer to this question. "Je ne sais pas." France murmured dropping his gaze." I don't know."


	8. All's Fair

If Australia did not kill himself with his stupid poisonous creatures, Québec was going to kill him. He knew that Australia was aware of how irratating he was, because Québec had loudly announced his murderous thought only seconds ago, at which Australia had only chuckled, and corrected him. "Not poisonous," He said cheerfully, "They're venoumous. You see, if it bites you and-"

"If you don't shut up, I will jam that beast down your throat!" Québec snapped, adding a few colourful embellishments in French. Australia hadn't even bothered to acknowledge that, only cooing at the Koala clinging to his shoulder. He had told Québec it wasn't poisonous or dangerous, but he had said the same thing about crocodiles, so Québec wasn't convinced. More than that, Québec could almost swear it was giving him the evil eye.

Australia had taken the liberty of introducing Québec to a great many of his "pets", including a funnel spider, a cassowary, a saltwater crocodile and a strange brown snake, all of which Quebec had threatened to burn if he did not send them back. The Koala was only the most recent of the pets Australia had brought, promising it was harmless, but Quebec was not about to let his guard down.

He glanced quickly at the owl house that his pet, Kumajiro, was currently sleeping in, wondering disconcertedly if an owl was stronger than a koala. He scowled at Australia, wishing Seychelles was there, but she had left shortly after Australia's arrival to take care of her country matters. He caught sight of a paper lying on his desk, and forgot his irratating temporarily, remembering what he had called Australia here to discuss.

"We don't have long." He stated impatiently. "America is comeing our way and we can't allow him to arrive before we finish this!" He slammed his hands on the table. Australia snapped to attention. "Crickey! America is coming here? I heard he wasn't leaving his home, not even for Maccas?" Québec's scowl deepened. "Yeah, well, he got over it, and now, all of a sudden, he needs to visit his "Petite frère."

Australia seemed to realize the effect that America's sudden travel plans would have on their own plans and his eyes widened. "But if that happens it'll ruin everything!" Québec rolled his eyes, none too graciously. "exactement." He managed to catch Australia's eyes. "you need to do something about it." Australia faltered. "Why me?" He argued. Québec regarded him pityingly, like Australia was a mouse that wandered into an owls nest. "Well, if you prefer, I could send you to speak with our "ami" up north instead, oui?"

Australia balked. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, mate, I ain't stepping foot in the snow, I have a _hot_ climate, I don't do cold!" Australia was already on his feet, gathering his Koala under one arm and his bag in the other. "All I have ta do is keep America, England, and the root rat distracted, right?" Québec tried to remind himself that just because Australia was not as smart as he was, didn't mean he was slow. Quebec was just a step above everyone else. 

He nodded with an incredible amount of patience, and a mischievous grin spread across Australia's face, bearing an earie resemblance to the Koala's wicked expression. "Leave it to me, mate." Australia grinned, looking like a little boy about to throw a bouncy ball in a china shop. If Québec had cared more about America and the other two countries well-being, he might have worried, but, well...

He grinned, flashing his teeth at Australia, and he could have sworn not only Australia, but also the creature on his shoulder, flinched. 

"All's fair in love and war."


	9. Mind Games

America was in the middle of a step when he felt it. It wasn't painful, per se, but more like an itchy feeling inside his pancreas. An insistant burn that he couldn't scratch, with no way to relieve the sensation. It wasn't much, but it was enough to cause him to stumble, then, he went down.

England jumped half a foot as the full weight of America stumbled, then hit the ground with a heavy thump. "America!" England was at his side in a second, sliding his hand ander America's arm, trying to pull him up. America waved him off, pushing England away with one hand and stemming the blood flow from his nose with the other. "M fine, Iggy." He muttered, using his nickname for England. America tipped his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose tightly to stem the flow of blood.

"What happened?" England demanded, seriously, eyes fierce. "I just tripped." America responded, shrugging easily along with the half lie. It was true that he had tripped, but more than that, he couldn't shake the feeling something was intensely wrong. The itching feeling was still there, burning, like lead, and familiar, from the many times America had lost Texas to Mexico, or more recently, like the feeling when Quebec retook Ontario.

One of his states had been taken.

It was less painful for America than it was for his brother. America shuddered at the thought. America was larger, and had many more states, or to be exact, 58 states and 3 territories. Losing just one would irritate him, but not hurt him, so different than the feeling of having a huge piece of you removed, like what America had felt through his bond when Canada - And just like that, with that thought, tears were dripping down his face. England panicked. "America! Where does it hurt! What happened?" He demanded, voice high and frightened, and rightly so. America couldn't remember the last time he'd cried in front of England. Not even during his revolution. America tried to wave England off with his one un-bloodied hand. "No, it's not that, I..." He trailed off, choking, and suddenly there was a new presence at his side, wiping his tears away, for once, saying nothing at all.

Finally, France stood up, pulling America with him. America's nose was already healed, the blood flow already stopped, and France wiped away the blood quickly with a wet handkerchief before it dried. France didn't say anything about the tears, and America was grateful for that. "Lets go. We 'ave to 'urry." France warned, and America was reminded about the importance of his mission. England looked like he wanted to say something more, but France caught his eyes and shook his head, and America could have sworn he saw the secret exchange happen between them.

He grew a little angry, and shoved France away. He wasn't a child, he was a full country, and he didn't need to be babied. Australia chose this moment to reappear around the corner. "Hey, this route isn't gonna work." He cheerfully stated, grinning widely. If America didn't know better, he'd have thought Australia was messing with them, if only for the fact this was the third time they had to take a detour. England seemed to be of the same opinion and asked sharply, "Why not?"  
  
Australia tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his grin, and pointed to the tree. "Drop bears." He explained, then temporarily turned serious. America followed his gaze to the Koala hanging on the branches. "They look like koalas," he warned, "but they are not the same. These little buggers will wait in trees for you to walk under, then drop down and attack you!" His animated face turned into an imitation of the beast's supposed snarl. France squeaked and took several steps back and America eyed the animal dubiously.

"What's the big deal?" America asked, unimpressed. "I can fight off a grizzly bear with no problem." Australia froze. "Really?" His eyes gleamed at this, seemingly excited, before remembering what he had been doing. Well, maybe _you_ can, but can you protect France and England from drop bears too?" He shook his head. "Safer to go another way mate." He gave a very unapologetic grin. "Sorry." America gritted his teeth. He didn't have time for this! But before America could voice his complaints or anything of that kind, someone else spoke up. 

"That's enough Australia!" England snapped, pushing past America to smack his other ex-colony on the head. "ow!" Australia complained, but England gave him no notice. "You know as well as I that drop bears aren't real!" England continued, clearly displeased. "You played that trick on my last time I visited you." Australia's ever present grin melted into a guilty look. "Ah." America felt as though someone had slapped him a cross the face. Australia had been lying to them this whole time? Did he think it was a game? With a few quick strides, he closed the distance between him and Australia, grabbing his brother by the collar.

"Have you been playing with us this whole time?" He exploded angrily. "I'm trying to prevent a _war_!" America was snarling. Australia, to his credit, did not look scared, although he still wore his guilty expression. "I know that!" Australia pouted. "Then why the hell-!" America was cut off by France's gentle touch on his arm, and a slight shake of his head. "Calm down." France muttered, and America forced himself to take a deep breath and begin again. "If I don't get to Québec _asap_ , there is going to be another war, and I don't want to lose anyone else!" The words choked him on the way out, and turned his tone from threatening to something more raw , similar to desperation. "Don't you understand?" These words were pleaded, soft, tired instead of angry. America realized he was scared, and forced himself to meet Australia's brown eyes.   
  
"I have to stop it before there is another war."


	10. Conquest

Quebec didn't like leaving his land. It made him feel vulnerable and unsafe. Even so, he had left his land to his general and made the treck up north to the icy territories. Normally he wouldn't go out of his way for another country, but he had little faith that this nation could actually handle things on his own. This thought was only strenghtened when he found the battle-ready nation leaning on an ax, not only not alone as promised, but with not one, but two countries.   
  
"Apparently your "alone" is different than mine." Quebec scolded coldly as he drew near. "Or am I mistaken, Denmark?" Denmark at least had the presence of mind to look ashamed, rubbing the back of his neck, but much like Australia, seemed to be lacking any real remorse. "Hej!" he greeted cheerfully. "Ahh, this is Greenland. Guess you could call him my colony." He gestured to the tanned man in the parka net to him, looking all too happy to be there. Quebec couldn't see how adding a colony was supposed to make Denmark any smarter, or help him execute his job any faster, but decided not to mention that in favor of inquiring after the third man. "Et tu?" He directed his attention the rather bored looking young man, who looked rather like a child following his mother a the clothing store.   
  
"I'm Iceland." He muttered, apparently not feeling the need to add any more explanation to that. "And what are you doing 'ere?" Quebec demanded, getting more and more frustrated. Iceland gave an easy shrug. "Taking back land for Canada, I guess." Denmark grinned and threw an arm over Iceland's shoulder. "This is my little brother! He's gonna help out!" Iceland slapped Denmarks arm away, muttering that he was _not_ Denmark's brother. "I'm only doing this because you said that building good relations would help me get more tourists." He argued.

Québec reminded himself that Denmark was an ally, who had reached out to him to offer to help, and should not be smacked upside the head, no matter how much he deserved it. Quebec hadn't been inclined to accept the offer of assistance from Denmark when he first received it, especially as Denmark was the first to claim some of Canada's land, but Seychelles had vouched for him, saying to "give him a chance." Québec was greatly regretting that chance as he watched the other nation fool around, but before he could say anything, Denmark snapped to attention.

"Well, it's time." He stated, slinging his axe across his shoulder, and Greenland happily followed suit. Iceland stopped looking bored and turned his sharp eyes to the west. Quebec looked sharply at the trio. "Oui. We 'ave to move fast, before its too late." He let his condescending smirk slip back onto his face, imagining America's face. "Are the armies ready?" Quebec asked, confidence only growing at the thought of all the power under his command. "Armies?" Denmark seemed confused. "What for?"  
  
Quebec froze with horror, and for a brief moment, he berated himself. How had he expected an English country to be any help at all? He should have supervised Denmark more closely. If he hadn't brought the promised fighters, then the battle was already lost. This was the only chance the catch America off guard, the carefully planned coordinated attacks would only work now, before America became aware of the growing invasion. Quebec forced himself to breathe again, taking a deep, calming breath.   
  
Denmark remained painfully oblivious. "Look, it's starting!" Quebec's frustration was quickly turning into confusion. "Eh?" Even before he turned to see what Denmark was pointing too, Quebec felt the warmth growing inside. He didn't have to see the flag, waving cheerily in blue and white, to know that the land beneath it was now his. "Quoi?" Iceland noticed Quebec's expression. "He said he was getting bored while waiting for you, so we went ahead and reclaimed the land for you." He stated, looking rather pleased at Quebec's confusion. Slowly it registered with Quebec that Denmark and his friends had already carried out the plan before he arrived. He turned demandingly to Denmark, and asked again, this time in English, "What?"

"As per our promise, the territories of Yukon and Nunavut have now been claimed as part of the Quebec-Canadian federation," Denmark amicably explained, and Quebec watched with awe and pride as the second flag went up in the distance. Quebec let a smirk slither back on to his face, and Greenland blanched at his expression. "What-" the tanned young man started to ask, but he was cut off by the flapping of wings as a large snowy owl descended from the sky, talon's outstretched.

"Et?" Québec demanded of the bird. "well, Kumajiro?" the owl bobbed it's head. "Its done." A triumphant look spread across Quebec's face, and Denmark took notice for the first time. "Man, that's some freaky expression you're wearing! Whats up?" Québec almost forgot to sound condescending as he explained.

"Look." He said simply, looking delighted. In the distance, a third blue and white flag was rising, displaying proudly Quebec's fleur-de-lis inside Canada's favored maple leaf. "Huh?" Denmark didn't seem to understand. Iceland seems to understand, but simply didn't care, and Greenland's eyes widened only a fraction as he realized what Québec had done.

Québec explained anyways. 

"Alaska now belongs to me."


	11. Enemy of my Enemy

America stared down Australia, but Australia remained unaffected by America's raw emotions. The itch had grown into a sort of buzz in America's stomach, and with the unease grew his frustration, and his younger brother's attitude wasn't helping. Australia looked at America with a slightly bemused expression, tilting his head. "But you're already at war. " He returned, a little too chirpily, and America forced himself to release Australia before he punched him.

France, sensing that America might not keep his cool any longer, stepped in. "We want to stop Québec before he gets hurt." He explained, gently. "He is only a little country, he cannot hope to win against America, even with your help. What if he dissapears?" France laid out Quebec's delicate situation in front of Australia, gently and persuadingly. Australia remained unaffected, retrieving his koala from the tree.

"Well, it's not like Quebec only has me as an ally." He explained casually, unworried. The sensation of buzzing in America's abdomen continued to grow, and America wondered if the bile rising in his throat was his own nerves, or something more sinister. At Australia's causal déclaration, England stiffened, And France practiced his strategic retreat by backing up a few steps. America tried to swallow the burning sensation that something wasn't right.

"Besides," Australia continued, his causal tone contrasted by the weight of the words, "its already too late." "What do you mean by that?" England said sharply, on high alert. The feeling in America's stomach seemed to spread to his fingertips as well, a burning, scratching feeling. America felt like puking. Australia looked right past England and caught America's eyes. His eyes were sincere, but non-apologetic. "Sorry, bro, but I'm with Québec. Life just ain't the same without Canada." 

England seemed to suddenly understand, turning to America desperately. "America, what's wrong? Tell me now!" America had moved his burning fingers and had them pressed over his stomach, as though to urge the itchy burning feeling in his stomach and pancreas to disappear by force of will. He felt nauseated, seeming to sway back and forth, and but now he could clearly identify the cause of the growing irritation. It was a familiar feeling, though one he hadn't felt in many years. 

His throat was closing, not with frustration or fear, but anger. He looked past England and France's concerned faces and half-snarled, half-choked out a single word. "Texas." England was the first understand, knowing how protective America was of Texas, so much so that a good deal of America's favorite movies were based there. England turned on Australia, angrily. "You took Texas? That's not even a part of Canada!" Australia threw his hands up in self defense. "Hey, it wasn't us who took Texas, just someone else whose goals will help us."

America didn't need to hear it from Australia to know who had stolen Texas, and by the feel of it, Arizona, from him. He straightened up, seething with anger. "Mexico." he hissed. Australia brightened. "That's the bloke!" He seemed pleased America has guessed, apparently oblivious to America's rage. France hesitated, not wanting to approach while America seethed. "You.. allied with Mexico?" France asked timidly.

"Well, y'know, enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that." Australia dismissed, oblivious to America's hatefilled gaze. "Well, my job was just to distract you, anyways." Australia admitted proudly. "If America arrives too soon our plans will be ruined!" Australia quoted Quebec. "So I was told to make sure you couldnt get there too soon." he considered this for a moment. "Besides, even if you went to Montreal, Quebec's not there. He went up north."

"North?" France demanded, and America realized somewhere between the anger and the betrayal, that something more than just Texas and Arizona were taken. He threw his gaze up and gave Australia a hard stare, no trace of brotherly feelinings remaining on his face. " _He didn't."_ America hissed incredulously. Australia seemed to collect himself, growing a little more serious, and America saw his hand drift to a gun resting on his hip, even though his tone remained light as he spoke.

"Well, we're at war, ain't we mate?"


	12. Apparition

England didn't _believe_ in fairies. To say it that way made it sound like he inexplicably chose to think they were there without proof, even though he couldn't see them. But he could see them. He could communicate with them, touch them, he _knew_ they were there. And the same way he knew that fairies existed, he knew that other things existed too. Darker, less pleasant things. He could usually tell, just at a glance, whether the spirit or other supernatural being was good, or, for lack of a better word, evil.

But the magical apparition hovering behind Quebec, arms around his shoulders, was so faint, the form so blurry and unreadable, that England was at a loss. So it was that England was incredibly nervous greeting the new country for the first time. "Hello, Québec, I am the United Kingdoms." He introduced himself, using his full title as a foundation, a way to strengthen himself. Though he spoke to the young lad with the unusually sharp eyes and face too condescending for a child, England's gaze didn't waver from the form behind Québec.

"I know who you are." Québec answered, struggling to speak in English, his accent stronger than France's, but rolling from his tongue differently. England caught the twisted look on France's face, like he'd bit into a rotten apple, and wondered if Quebec's French was some sort of hick accent, a mangling of France's language. "Why are you here?" Québec asked, demandingly, not caring to be sensitive or careful. England stopped, uncomfortable.

Why was he here? He could hardly say he was dragged here to support America as he mourned a country that England didn't remember. It was true he knew of Canada, the land, the counrty, but he had no recollection of ever meeting the personification, and despite France's contant stories, England couldn't seem to dredge up any memories of those times. America, thankfully, read England's hesitation and inability to answer as being emotionally overwhelmed, and pushed his way in front of him.

"He's with me." America said, slamming his hands on Quebec's desk. Québec muttered something in French, which England didn't need to understand to know it was an insult, and judging by the way France clenched his fists and glared, not a gentle one either. "And why are you here?" Québec turned his gaze to America, cooly, speaking pityingly, like he was speaking to a stupid child. "I don't remember inviting you here. You must have forgotten our two countries are at war, or else you wouldn't have come here so recklessly." Québec arched an eyebrow. "Unless you are stupid?"

England couldn't help but notice how Quebec seemed to take special pleasure in taunting America, but he wasn't concerned. After all, America had dealt with England's taunting for quite a long time and never gave in, so he was quite sure America wouldn't lose to a newborn brat. True to his beliefs, America wasn't even fazed. "Québec, you aren't a country." He argued. "You're barely a dominion, and you're picking a fight you can't hope to win."

America threw the cold truth in Québec's face, neither angry nor frustrated, just reasoning. "I've come all the way here to negotiate with you, so what little land you have that makes you, _you_ , won't disappear. So if you don't want to lose everything, I suggest you listen dude." Québec scowled, and looked about to argue further, but the misty creature behind him slid what may have been a hand or a paw over his mouth, and the small country begrudgingly bit back his words.

Québec took a moment to reword his phrasing, but his words still came out cutting and cold. "You say this as though I am going to lose." Québec sneered conceitedly, and England's attention was drawn from the misty fugire to France, stiff and angry, looking rather as though he would like to slap Québec. America, contrastingly, remained stoic. "You can't win!" America insisted, slamming his hands down angrily. Québec graced this with an even haughtier look.

"I already am."


	13. Advice

Seychelles hadn't abandoned her brother. Neither Québec, nor Canada. It was true that she had made an excuse to leave the country and go back home during a crucial part of Quebec's plan, but she wasn't running away. Seychelles had every faith Québec could finish what he started.

Rather, it was because of this that she had left. To be honest, she wasn't sure how to feel about Quebec's plan. He had explained to her that it was not just attack to bring back Canada, but also a warning to protect him in the future. Still, America was her brother too, and Quebec's actions made her uneasy. Whenever Seychelles felt uncertain, she did what any smart country would and turned to others for advice. 

Even though she knew it would happen, she was still unprepared for the heavy slap to the back administered by Cuba when she entered the room. "Took you long enough!" He scolded, chewing on his cigar. There was a tenseness behind Cuba's easygoing smile, as though the huge grin was the only thing keeping him from tears. Holland, smoking his pipe across the room, was the opposite, his eyes blank and his posture slouched, although his clothing remained immaculate as ever. 

"Sorry" Seychelles murmured contritely. "It was harder getting through America than I thought." Cuba's eye twitched at the name ever so slightly, but he only puffed on his cigar and pulled her into a hug. The embrace only lasted a few minutes, but it was everything Seychelles needed. She had been always moving, always pressed for time, always focused on something, helping Québec, managing her work, anything to keep her busy. This was her first moment of rest on a long time. But a few minutes is all she would allow herself, before she pulled away, moving on to the next task. 

Already she could feel a weight in her lungs, as though the air was heavy, a subtle reminder of why she couldn't stop to rest. She pulled back, a little too desperately, but Cuba didn't confront her about the reason. "Any word from Prussia?" She asked awkwardly. Cuba shook his head. "Germany was pretty scared when Prussia joined the war. I hear he's keeping a really close eye on him." Holland flinched at this comment, looking as he was reliving that moment from a year ago. Seychelles moved as though to comfort him, and hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder. Usually at this point Prussia would have said something strange and the mood would have been instantly lightened. 

Cuba took it upon himself to lighten the mood. "He must be enjoying himself spending so much time with his little brother." he chuckled. Holland ignored him and spoke for the first time, his blank eyes still not meeting Seychelles's. "You said you had news." She smiled nervously. "Yes. I can't say it's good news, but I can't say it's bad news either." "Great." Muttered Cuba under his breath. "Well, hit us with it. You know what they say, any news is good news." Seychelles swallowed, then spoke. 

"My new little brother, Québec, is trying to bring back Canada." Just saying her older brother's name was enough to cause her voice to shake. Her news was not recieved enthusiastically. "Yah. So what?" Holland responded tonelessly. "He will not succeed." Cuba scolded him with a wack to the back of his head, but even do, his response was careful. "I can't go to war again. I don't have resources left to share." Seychelles brought her hands up in a panic. 

"No, you misunderstood! Im not asking for your help in war again!" She flushed with shame. "It's just, I needed some advice." For the first time, Holland looked at her, a sliver of curiosity in his blank eyes. "Advice?" She twisted her hands together nervously. "Oui. I don't have many friends. You were the only people I could think to ask." Cuba was curious too, and made no effort to hide it. "Go on!" He demanded. Seychelles took a deep breath, then began. "What if, in trying to save one brother, I lose another?" For a moment, there was silence. Then, " _What?_ ". 

She found herself babbling as she explained, and Holland put up a hand to stop her. "So you're saying that Québec plans to conquer America in order to take Canada back?" She nodded tearfully. 

"I'm afraid that I'm going to lose America too."


	14. Fire of an Empire

France hesitated in front of the door. He'd been by England's side most of his life, a childhood friend, sometimes an enemy. He was certain he could read England better than anyone else. That's why he hesitated. Finally he knocked. There was some cursing from within and then England threw open the door. "What do you want, frog?" He asked without even looking at France, his tone a bit sharper than normal. France couldn't resist the urge to tease him. "I'm touched that you could tell it was me." He purred, and England looked as though he was considering slamming the door. "You're the only person who knocks in such a girly way." 

France caught the door as England tried to close it, not missing the distracted look in his eyes, or the tired tone in England's voice. "We need to talk." France turned serious. England wasn't in the mood. "I have better things to do then lose brain cells talking to you." England snapped, France stopped him in his tracks. "what did you see?" he asked. England froze. "I don't know what you mean." France forced himself into the room disregarding England's obvious attempts to block him out. "Angleterre, I 'ave know you since we were both children," He scolded, dropping carelessly into a chair, "so tell me what you saw.". 

France watched England for further arguments, but perhaps because he was so unsettled by what he saw, he let it go, pouring himself a teacup of something that looked suspiciously like whiskey. He took a shakey sip then dropped onto the edge of the bed, as the chair was taken. "It's not so much what I saw, as what I couldn't." He explained finally. France raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, waiting for England to continue as he lit a cigarette. "It's like..." England made a frustrated noise. "There's some _thing_ hanging around Quebec, it's like a murky kind of mist. I can't even tell if it's an animal or a person." He downed whatever was in his teacup with a gulp. 

France barely avoided dropping cigarette ash on the clean carpet as he leaned forwards. "You're saying Québec is possessed by something?" His voice rose in a tinge of hysteria. "is 'e in danger?" "I don't know!" England spat out exasperatedly, twisting his hands in his hair as though that would bring him the answer. "Everything is usually so clear but I can't see this thing at all." He shuddered and sipped at he teacup, then looked surprised to find it empty. "There's something else, oui?" France probed.

England sighed, putting the teacup down. "That boy, he's too young, it's uncanny but..." He cast a longing look toward the bottle of what France was now sure was whiskey. "He reminds me of myself when I was younger." He didn't need to explain for France to understand, but he did anyways. "He isn't just doing this for Canadia or whatever it's called." France flinched at the casual mangling of Canada's name. "He's got that same drive, that desire." England continued, obliviously. "That boy will not stop at Canada. I can see in his eyes that he has the fire and the fight to become an empire."

France leaned forwards, no longer casually reclined. "so what are you saying?" England looked weary, as though tired from years of battle. "We have to be careful, or we might lose America too." The statement was so electrifying France almost missed the "too" England had tacked on. How much did he remember? Was he overcoming his amnesia? He pushed the questions away for later, addressing the more serious issue. "You're saying that Québec might try to conquer Amerique? That's impossible!" His voice came out a little too sharp and forceful than he meant.

America had never been his colony, but even so, it was impossible for France to not consider him family, and the thought of losing America put a strain on his already on edge self. "Everything he's done so far should be impossible!" England snapped back. "How quickly he took back Ontario, his allying with Mexico, Australia, and now some of the nordics, the fact he somehow had and maintains an army and still receives provisions through the tight American security, its all impossible! But he still did it!" 

France wilted back in his chair, feeling a chill come over him." But Amérique is a superpower country." He murmured as a last hopeful plea. England's tone had a hard line of steel in it as he responded." Lets hope he stays that way. "


	15. "I was Waiting"

America sent England and France away first, claiming that this was between him and Quebec, and they needed to talk alone. Quebec knew better than that. America sent them away because he wanted to say something he didn't want them to hear. When the two disappeared, the bravado seemed to drain out of America, and he just looked tired. He met Quebec's eyes with a sort of resigned hope. Quebec hated that look. "I know why you're attacking me." He said finally, as though he was discussing tomorrow's breakfast. "I know since the moment you first saw me on that video conference you didn't like me. You always are ruder to me than everyone else, and you're quicker to point out my mistakes than England ever was." 

There was something about America's resigned tone that grated Québec the wrong way. Like America had the right to be self-pitying. As though he was the victim. Quebec refused to encourage America's self pity session, glaring at his so called" big brother". "You don't have to say anything." America continued on his own, picking up a glass paperweight shaped like a tiny globe and rolling it on his fingers. "I'm not blaming you. I caused this, because I wasn't strong enough." He plopped the glass paperweight back down in front of Quebec. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm just asking for a chance." He blinked back tears. 

"I just want my brother back." Those words were the last straw for Québec. His seat toppled backwards, hitting the ground with a crash and the heavy paperweight America had just been fidgiting with went flying across the room, barely missing America's head. America didn't even flinch. "Vous poubelle!" Québec snarled, then translated to English for the insult to take the best effect. "You _trash."_ He was shaking with barely suppressed rage. How _dare_ he say that, right in front of Quebec? As though he didn't have another brother standing right there in front of him? 

"It's fine." America said, in an unusually empty tone. "It's fine if you hate me. Its my fault Canada disappeared, after all." He crouched down and started gathering the shards of broken glass. "It's okay to take it out on me." Québec realized with a shock that's what America _wanted_ him to do. America wanted to be punished for what he did to Canada, and because none of his close family would blame him, even though he blamed himself. He came to Quebec, angry and hurt, to receive retribution. The thought made Québec want to laugh, the sound bubbling up from inside. He would never give America the satisfaction. 

"You're wrong!" Québec spat the words at America, knowing his kindness would hurt more than any insult. "I don't hate you because of that! Everyone knows it wasn't your fault, and I know the best how hard you tried to prevent it!" America froze. "Then why-" His face showed complete confusion. There was a line of something desperate in his tone, a final thread close to snapping. America wanted, no, he _needed_ Québec to blame him for Canada's death. But America wasnt the only one close to snapping, and Quebec's thread broke first. 

"Because you promised! You said you'd be back soon!" And against Québec's will, tears were leaking out of his eyes, spilling down his face in big hot drops. "I woke up, and I was waiting, but you didn't come back!" His shoulders were shaking now from the force of his sobs. For the first time since Quebec had been officially recognized as a country, he allowed himself to be a child. He wished more than ever Seychelles was by his side. In this moment in time, Québec didn't feel like a country, or even a province. He felt like a very regular little boy who found himself all alone in the world, and even though he was now around the size of a 12 year old, he still felt tiny. 

America was taken aback. When had he ever promised something like that to Quebec? The pure confusion he felt made him forget about his guilt temporarily. He had a flashback to the last time he'd seen Canada. His brother has been a child at that time, and he had whispered a goodbye... What had he said? "I'll be back soon bro, so you'd better be awake and waiting when I come back." America's eyes widened. "you-" Québec glared pitifully through the tears in his eyes, but his voice came out more hopeful than he intended. "I've been waiting," Québec sniffled, his French accent getting thicker. "But you never came."

America turned to stone. For a moment they just stood opposite each other, as America struggled to breathe, each accessing the other. Quebec hated himself for getting his hopes up, for waiting for America to pull him into his arms, but even so, when America moved, Québec took a half-step forward, expectantly.

Then, America took a step back. He looked bewildered, confused, guilty and beyond that, afraid. America's face didn't show even an ounce of affection for Quebec. 

Québec's expression instantly fell, solidifying to something harder. "I don't need you anymore." He scowled, retreating behind his desk and picking up his chair before climbing into it. "I'm done with empty promises. Either surrender Canada's land back to me, immediately, be destroyed yourself when I take him back, one by one." America didn't answered, whirling and reaching for the door. 

"I'll make you feel our pain." Québec promised, angry and hurt. America fled the room.


	16. The reason why

America was gone the next morning, abandoning England and France in Montréal. He'd left a note, but neither England nor France would show it to Australia, or tell him what it said. He had a sneaking suspicion that they were mad at him for his tricks the other day. Australia always considered himself a good mix of his two brothers; the friendliness and kindness of Canada mixed with the energy and strength of America. As such, he definitely wasnt used to being given the cold shoulder. His greatest war had been against flightless birds in his own country! He shuddered. Emus were terrifying. 

Australia really wasn't one to beat around the bush. He felt that things tended to go better when it was laid out clearly in an easy to understand way. So naturally as soon as he realized that England and France were mad at him, he went straight up to them to confront them. England gave him an icy look as he approached, and France looked uneasy. "You're mad at me." Australia announced. England rolled his eyes. "You don't say?" Australia figured that's where Québec inherited his sassiness from. "Why?" Australia demanded.

France and England stared at him, aghast. "What do you mean by "why?" " England demanded furiously." It's obviously because you and Quebec cooperated to distract us, and to attack America! " Australia blinked as he considered this. He understood that tricking someone would upset them, but still..." He tilted his head and then asked again, innocently, "But why are you upset? We're just bringing Canada back! You don't want to see him again?" France looked sick at the words, pressing his hand to his mouth.

England was unaffected. "I'm upset because you attacked America! This isn't just taking back Canada's land!" He snapped. That made sense. America had always been England's favorite. "Besides," England continued, and France lurched forward as though to stop him, but the words were already out. "Why should I care about a country I don't even know?" Everyone froze. France panicked. "He didn't mean that, 'e is just tired, of course he remembers Canada, 'ow could he forget?" The pained smile on France's face did nothing to support his cover, and England looked like he was realizing he said something he wasn't supposed to. 

Australia took a step back. He knew that like America he wasn't the best at reading the atmosphere, but he wasn't dumb. He stared at England with a horrified sadness. "You forgot Canada again." It wasn't a question but a statement. It was strange for Australia's usual peppy and loud voice to fall so low and quiet, and it seemed to put England in a trance of a sort. "Again?" France asked timidly, catching the word tacked on the end. Australia didn't try to smile. He wasn't in the mood. His lips twitched down as he answered. "You don't remember either?" France felt as though there was an answer just in front of him, only just out of arms reach, the reason for everything. 

"Australia, remember what?" France demanded, a desperate note in his voice. "Can't believe you mate. What a dickhead. " Australia shook his head. "Even though that's the whole reason Canada disappeared in the first place and you don't even remember." France turned to ice, and Australia wondered if he'd been too harsh. Still, it was their fault he was now involved in a war to bring back his brother, and he didn't think it was fair for them to be angry at him because of it. _"What?"_ France's voice was an octive higher than it usually was. "You know why Canada disapeared?" Australia rolled his eyes. "Yeah, me'n Hong-Kong both, I guess. And anyone else who cared." "Why?" begged France, needing to know the answer. 

"Find out yourself." Québec snapped from the doorway, eyes rimmed with red. Australia wasn't blind either, and he'd comforted Wy and Sealand enough to know when someone had been crying. He also has a feeling that mentioning it would be a bad idea. Still, as a big brother, Australia couldn't leave Quebec alone, so instead he scooped Québec up and placed him on one of his shoulders. Quebec cursed and Australia laughed to hear the dirty words coming from a child's mouth. "Put me down!" Québec demanded, kicking his legs. Australia considered spinning him in wild circles to cheer him up like America had done to him when he was younger, buy since last time he tried that with Wy she threw up, he decided against it. 

"Put me down now you _salaud!_ " Québec ordered again, and Australia responded with a grin. "Just wanted to hang with my little brother!" Australia pouted, and Quebec stiffened at the word. "Fine." Québec gave in. "Ah, by the way," Australia added as an after thought, "Mexico said to give you a message." Québec froze. "What did he say?" Australia cleared his throat. "He said -and I quote-'Tell Québec to kick America's ass, and if he needs help, I'll do what I can!' ". Québec seemed to grow stiffer on Australia's shoulder. "I'm going to **destroy** America."

France and England both looked horrified at this news, but Australia only chuckled. It was so cute how his newest brother thought he could take America down. He just hoped Québec didn't forget why he started the war in the first place.


	17. The Owl

America hadn't noticed the owl following him until it swooped down and landed on the branch next to him, clicking his beak. That only served to prove to him that America had lost his edge. "Hoo." The owled hooted, ruffling its white feathers. America scowled. "Did Québec tell you to follow me?" The owl stared at him. America glared at it for a moment before sighing. "You remind me of his bear." "Hoo?" The owl seemed genuinely confused. America plunked down on the ground. "You even sound like that bear."

It was beyond America how his brother and the bear managed to be so close while neither remembered the other's name. America had heard so many variations of the bear's name from his brother that the only thing he was sure of was that the name started with "Kuma". He regarded the owl tiredly. "Hey, maybe you know what I should do." He dug in his pack for some beef jerky, munching on a strip and throwing a strip to the bird, who swooped down and caught it.

America felt a little stupid talking to an owl, but he had something he needed to talk out, and he found it helpful to talk out loud, even if it was to a bird too stupid to remember it was nocturnal. The owl was ripping at the meat, paying no attention to America. It finished its piece and hopped nearer to America, expectantly. America threw the bird another piece. "It's just.." He trailed off, then restarted. "I did this." America was surprised at how steady his voice was, rational and calm as he admitted his misdeeds. "It's my fault that Canada disapeared. My boss only decided to conquer Canada because I brought it up. I was the one who told him that the personification of Canada disapeared."

The snowy owl took advantage of America's monologue to steal the rest of the bag of jerky, darting away to a fair distance away to devour it. America couldn't seem to care enough to try to get it back, pulling out a protein bar instead, and unwrapping it, but not bringing it to his mouth. "I thought I would protect him and I just messed it up again, just like back in 1812." He dropped his head into his hands. "Except this time Mattie wasn't there to defend himself." The protein bar slipped out of his hand and tumbled to the ground forgotten. "It's my fault."

The owl stopped eating long enough to look at America with a disapproving stare, and America could almost hear its voice, passive-aggressive and sarcastic like his brother was. " _So?_ " The owl in America's head asked. " _Cry me a river. What are you going to do about it?"_ "I don't know." America groaned, responding to an unasked question. "Everything is so messed up." The owl remained unimpressed, returning to the dried meat. America continued. "Québec hates me, and somehow he's not Canada, but he was Canada before and he thinks I'm his brother." America could have sworn the owl rolled its eyes. " _And that matters because?"_ "Because I already have a brother!" America snapped back.

" _Can't have more than one?"_

"Its not that!" America gritted his teeth. "Québec can't be a country, he's too small, he's agressive and arrogant and he picks fights he can't win." The bird was definitely not listening now, head inside the plastic bag, trying to reach the last piece at the bottom. America continued anyways, getting more and more irritated as he spoke." Moreover, he's only a temporary country. If he succeeds at bringing Canada back-" America cut himself off with a choke, surprised at the way he almost freely admitted the heart of the matter. He didn't want to lose a brother again. He couldn't allow himself to get close to Quebec, to care for him. If he did-

He threw his head back and stared at the bright afternoon sky, wishing it might start pouring to represent his feelings right now. A shuffling at his feet alerted him to the fact the owl had now started on his fallen protein bar. He sighed. "Mattie would know what to do. Wish I could ask him for advice."

"Who?"

"Canada!" America snapped, exasperated. He glared at the owl currently eating his lunch. The owl gulped down the piece it had just torn off and stared at him with its huge owl eyes. "Why don't you?" It asked. "Because he's _gone,_ __you stupid bird!" America snapped, then froze. He was almost sure that he hadn't imagined the voice that time. "I'm not stupid." The owl huffed, fluffing it's feathers, and America was certain that he didn't imagine the voice.

He blinked, staring in a half-awed, half-horrified way at the bird. Either America was going crazy, or Quebec's owl had just _spoken_ to him. 

America hoped he wasn't crazy.


	18. Petit Frère

Seychelles returned with the news that Labrador and Prince Edward Island had been reclaimed, and that Nova Scotia would also be Quebec's soon. In his emotionally vulnerable position, England simply hadn't felt the need to put in the effort to fight for them, the battle had ended in less than 12 hours. It certainly helped his case that the British General commanding the hastily erected fortress in Labrador had gone missing without warning before the battle, or that one of the more trusted higher-up's had been relaying important information to Quebec's own government. 

It was amazing what people would do for family, Québec reflected. He knew that Seychelles didn't approve of his methods, but that was exactly the reason he didn't tell her. Besides, if the man did his job well, Québec had every intent to reunite the man with his wife and three-year-old daughter again, which was a much more favourable outcome than that of the missing English general. Quebec noted that he was lucky Australia never suspected the worst of anyone when Quebec had requested to "borrow" one of Australia's many poisonous spiders. He hoped Australia didn't want the spider back, seeing as both the beast and the General were no longer in this world. 

What he didn't appreciate was Seychelles's ability to read the mood, something Australia didn't specialize in. With one look at his face, she had known something had happened, and although Quebec had made it clear he didn't want to talk about it, she seemed to take that as permission for her to talk about her feelings instead. 

"I used to feel unloved and alone." Seychelles started, wistfully, siting on Quebec's desk. "Nobody knew who I was, and even when I introduced myself, they didn't seem to care." She paused for a moment, then continued. "Then I met Canada. I used to hate him back then because I was jealous of him. But even though he was the second largest country in the world, he was so excited I remembered him." She giggled a little at the memory. "It made me feel like I was the large counrty and he was the small one. For the first time I really felt like someone cared about me."

She stole a look at Québec, who looked less than impressed. "So what?" he said, a little pettily. "What does that have to do with me?" Québec was beginning to hate hearing about Canada. She smiled a little sadly. "Well, back then, when you were declared independent, everyone was always 'Canada that, Canada this' and no-one ever seemed to say 'Quebec'. Everyone just left after Canada disappeared." Her words made Québec remember something he'd perfered to leave forgotten, and his scowl deepened. "Et tu?" He demanded, digging for the point his sister wasn't getting to. "Why didn't you leave too?"

His words came out sharper than he would have liked, still smarting from America's rejection, and he knew Seychelles caught it by the side long glance she threw him. She looked as though she would like to ask him about it, but wisely decided not to, instead answering Quebec's question. "I guess I saw myself in you, and I wanted to do for you what Canada did for me. It wasn't anything special, or a deep reason, it's just I wanted to make myself feel better." She said offhandedly, shrugging. Something about the way she said it made Québec shrink a little inside.

He'd held out some hope that Seychelles, at least, would have understood, that she would - he cut off his thoughts before he could allow himself to suffer the same disappointment he felt before. She was only an ally, nothing else. Quebec didn't need anything else. Seychelles, shifted, getting up off Quebec's desk. "Besides," She added in a softer tone, "You're my brother too." She didn't turn to look at Québec, nor acknowledge the break in his voice when he spoke, and Québec was grateful for that, though he would never admit it. "Then let's bring Canada back together." He didn't need to see her face to know she was smiling. 

"Of course." She responded simply, skipping to the door. She hesitated a moment. "Get some sleep, little brother. You'll need it." Québec swallowed the lump in his throat. Merci." The word was a whisper, barely audible. He knew Seychelles heard it by the simple. "Oui" she responded with, before disapearing from his office.

Quebec tried to focus on his documents though his blurry vision. The war was only getting started.


	19. An Owl's Wisdom

America watched the owl perched on the nearby tree stump warily. The bird's words rang in his head. _"Wish I could ask him for advice."_ America had said. _"Why don't you?"_ The bird had responded. He had explained, of course, that Canada was _gone._ No matter how much he wanted, there was no way he could ask his brother anything. The owl stared at him, unblinking. "Then use your bond." The bird had responded, less than worried. America wondered if the owl had any connection to Canada. He'd never seen the bird before Québec was created. 

America dropped his head into his lap. "How am I supposed to use my bond to talk to him when he's gone?" He muttered hopelessly. The bird didn't seem to understand. "You're talking to me through the bond." The bird commented through a yawn. America jerked his head up. "Our bond is the reason I can understand you?" The beast preened it's feathers before responding. "Because you took over his lands it only makes sense that you'd be able to speak to me." 

America froze, a sudden realization occurring to him. The way the owl sounded similar to Canada's bear, the way he seemed to know about America and Canada's bond, the familiar way the bird acted, America was beginning to connect all the dots. He sat up sharply and gazed at the bird with narrowed eyes. It was as though the animal actually knew Canada. He opened his mouth to ask the question, but the words that escaped were not the words he meant to say. "What are you?" The owl stopped preening his wing and clicked its beak at America, as though he had asked a dumb question.

"I'm the Spirit of the North , of course." The bird snapped, sounding annoyed. America was closer the answer he was looking for, but the question he wanted to ask was different. He tried again, and this time, the words came out right. "Who are you?" The beast froze, likely hearing shocked at hearing its own refrain directed at it. Before America's eyes, it seemed to fluff, growing bigger and more confident. The answer only confirmed America's suspicions. "I'm Kumajiro."

If America wasn't already sitting he would have collapsed. The owl that was in front of him right now, and the bear that always stayed by Canada's side, were the same being. He greatest clue to bringing Canada back was standing in front of him. Somewhere inside him, America began to feel hopeful again. "Kumajiro," He asked, suddenly finding the strength to jump to his feet. The bird turned its gaze to him, unblinking and golden. How can I speak to Canada again using the bond?" the bird continued to stared for a moment, and America's heart began to sink. Of course it wasn't possible. Canada was gone. Then the owl responded. 

"Who?"

All of America's irritation returned as he snapped. "Canada! My brother!" He really couldn't understand why Canada liked this beast so much when it could never remember his name, even before Canada disappeared. "Oh. Him." The bird responded. "I don't know. It's your bond." The bird fluffed his feathers and America resisted the urge to strangle the owl. "So you don't know anything." He snapped, the frustration and disappointment welling up into a knot in his throat. Suddenly, without him meaning to, the words that America didn't want to face slipped out.

"Canada is gone, you stupid bird, and he's never coming back!" No sooner did the words slip out then America caught his breath in a strangled gasp, as though in shock at his own words. He fought back the tears, refusing to drown Washington anymore. America felt like he was sinking. It was hard to breath, to focus, he was going to drown in this feeling- 

The owl cut through the tension in a slightly insulted tone. "He is coming back." The bird argued. "Because it's the Québec-Canadien confederation." Then it stuck its head sukily under his wing, and though he was asleep. America stayed frozen at the words. "Of course." He murmured, dazed. Even if Canada's land hadn't been claimed under his name, Québec had claimed it for the Québec-Canadien confederation, but still went by just Québec. With this realization came a stunning hope.

"Maybe I can still speak to him." America murmured to himself, eyes wide. The owl made a muffled noise that sounded like "Duh." from under his wing. America smiled, a shadow of his famously blinding smile, as for the first time since Canada's disappearance, America, the hero, found his first clue.


	20. "You Asked"

Québec was awakened in the way he hated most: with a loud and cheerful voice, and the curtains yanked open to let in the ridiculously bright sunlight. "Oi, mate, up and at 'em!" Australia instructed, yanking open the curtains. Quebec snarled a curse under his breath. "Dont be like that mate, we' ve got a war to fight, eh?" Quebec sat up quite crankily, only then registering he was in his bed when he was quite certain he'd fallen alseep in the office. "Up you get. Come get some tuck." Québec affixed Australia with his best glare. Australia didnt notice. 

If Québec had been fully awake, he might have gotten angrtly, or chased the other country out of his room. Instead he rollwd over amd muttered half-heartedly about stupid English countries thinking they rule everything before going back to sleep. Australia had a solution for that too, hauling Québec out of bed by the ankles amd letting him drop onto the floor. With a much more whole-hearted curse, Québec drowsily allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. By the time Québec fully woke up he found himself at the kitchen table without any memory of going there.

"'ere you go. Drink up!" Australia slid him a mug of brown liquid. Quebec sniffed it suspiciously. "This doesnt smell like un café." he warned. Australia grinned wider. "its not." Something about Australia's never ending enthusiasm, and the fact Quebec didnt take kindly to being woken up, was irritating him. "I dont need hot chocolate, im not en enfant!" He scolded, pushing the drink away. Australia gave him a conspiring wink. "It not that either, Mate, its better!" 

That only made Québec more suspicious. "What is it?" Australia downed his glass before responding. "Milo!" That didnt answer anything for Québec. "Just try it!" Australia encouraged, and hesitantly, Québec took a sip. Its tast was similar to hot chocolate, but not something that could be confused with it. Quebec still wasnt entirely sure he liked the drink, but decided trying to fight Australia on it wasnt something he could deal with so early in the morning. Instead, he squinted at the toast Australia was eating. 

"Is that... Toast with sprinkles?" he wrinkled his nos3 in disgust. Australia responded in a muffled tone trhough his mouthfull of bread, either claimed that that the bread was airy or that a fairy was dead. Quebec decided he was too tired to bother. "Im not eating that." He decided, getting up to make crepes. Australia shrugged, uncaringly. "Your loss. There's vegemite too." he inclined his head to the counter. Quebec gave him his best withering look. "The day i eat that trash is the day i die." 

Australia chuckled. "The cold eather up here is ruinin' your tastebuds. If you tried at my place you would like it." "Non, i would not." Quebec scowled. "You can go back there if you want and eat your slime, but i will not."

"Don't say that!" Australia's tone was little sharper than normal as he responded. " I came here to fight with you and there's nowhere else I'd rather be!" 

"Why?" The question escaped before Québec truely recognized it. He knew that Australia found Quebec too cold, and didnt like most of his food either, and constantly mentioned how great it was back at his place. Australia turned to look at him, somewhat shocked. "You asked me for help, didnt ya?" he responded, as though that explained everything. 

"That's it?" Québec was nunplussed. "You cannot _want_ to fight a war just because i asked you to! Would you help just anyone if they asked?" Australia quickly chewed and swallowed his mouthful of bread and sprinkles. "Well, thats just it, ain't it?" He asked casually. "No-one else did ask." he took another bite and chewed slowly and thoughtfully. Just when Québec thought Australia was done speaking, he continued.

"There were a lot of countries involved, y'know. America, France, Britain, Russia, even Cuba and Holland and the like. Even though I'm Canada and America's brothers, even though i used to be England's colony, none of 'em asked for my help. Just you, Mate." Australia reach3d for another peice of toast and started spreading the vegemite on it. 

"You joined a war just brcause of that? "

Australia was giving him his full attention now. "You ask me to help because you thought i could make a difference. I got my pride as a country, and hell if i dont meet your expectations." Australia's eyes didnt waver, and his tone held a firm note as he started applying avocado to the toast. Quebec realized with a sort of warmth that Australia respected him. Not like Seychelles, who treated him like a child to be protected, or America, who had seen his force in war, but still only saw Canada behind him.

Australia wasn't fighting for Canada, he was fighting for Quebec. For the first time, it occurred to Québec that perhaps Australia wasnt as dumb as he initially thought. "What about me?" Quebec asked carefully, meetimg Australia's eyes. "Do you think i can win this war?" 

Australia grinned again. "Of course. Didnt come all this way just to lose, mate." 

For the first time, Québec truely felt that they were allies.


	21. "Will He Change?"

Prussia lay back on his bed, kicking his feet up and down. After a moment he flipped onto his stomach and continued kicking, then a moment later flipped back over, and rolled off the bed with a thump. "Shizer! That hurt!!" He complained out loud, and moments later Germany appeared around the corner, looking concerned. "Bruder? Are you okay?" Prussia forced his trademark smile onto his face. "Ja, West, just fell off the bed." Germany studied his face with concern and Prussia wondered if he looked as tired as he felt. "Really, I'm fine." He assured his younger brother, bouncing to his feet with a beam. "Your Bruder is much too awesome to be hurt by that!" 

Germany sighed, but there was an unease in his eyes as he watched Prussia. "Bruder.." He began again, uneasily, then trailed off. Prussia knew Germany felt guilty for forcing him to stay out of the war, and while he hadn't physically locked Prussia inside his room, that somehow ended up being the result. Prussia knew his younger brother didn't want to lose him, and it was respect for that that made him feel flattered instead of upset, though he _was_ very bored. QD

Prussia waited, curiously, to hear what Germany had to say. Germany licked his lips, then abandoned whatever he had been going to say as there was a sound of cupboards opening below. "Verdamit." Germany muttered, looking slightly annoyed. "He's into the wine." Prussia smirked at his younger brother. "Italy again?" Germany looked tired. "Actually, no, not this time." Prussia frowned as he thought. A guest that wasn't Italy that exasperated Germany and helped himself to their wine? Who could that be? 

As though reading his mind, Germany continued. "It's a guest for you, actually." "For me?" Prussia repeated bewildered. "Ja." Germany agreed, turned to go, hesitating for a moment at the door. "You're my Bruder. I don't want to lose you. Just be carefull, Ja?" Germany's voice was softer than Prussia had ever heard it before, a gentle plea instead of a sharp command. Prussia quickly followed after Germany, mind swirling. Who could possibly have come to visit him? The answer came to him as he set foot into the kitchen, and heard the soft and fluttery voice arguing with Germany over the wine. 

Prussia knew that voice, that it belonged to the one country he would never forgive. Germany and the other country must have felt the sudden hostility, and both stopped arguing. The other country grew somber, sitting up straight and drawing his arms into himself, although his hand remained tight around the wine. Germany turned a bewildered gaze to his brother, questioning cautiously "Bruder?" Prussia forced a smile to his face, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "Yo, Bruder, the awesome me will take care of our guest, so why don't you go visit Italy?" 

Germany quickly understood what Prussia was asking, and, after a moments hesitation, agreed, muttering that he meant to do some training today with Italy anyways. It wasn't until Germany was out the door that Prussia let his smile slip, finally acknowledgeing the guest directly. "Why are you here, France?" France flinched and he took a sip of his wine as though to delay the inevitable. When he did speak, his tone was timider than it usually was, a foreboding sign that instantly put Prussia on edge. 

"That time... All those years ago..." France began, trailing off every few words, as though they were hard to say, "I'm sorry, I didn't understand what it felt like. I was a fool." Prussia only grew more wary when France apologized. "Get to the point." He snapped, glowering. France downed the rest of his glass in a very un-France like way, swallowing nervously before blurting out his purpose. 

"You know what happens when a country that completely disappears comes back." The words were blurted quickly, in a low tone, and France's eyes were trained guiltily on his empty glass. The words enraged Prussia, and he wanted to snarl " _An_ _d whose fault do you think that is?"_ But he didn't. The reason for France's question was painfully obvious, and for that reason alone, Prussia bit back his resentment and humoured France's question. 

"Will he change?" France took Prussia's silence as a go ahead, and gently asked his question. He didn't need to specify who he was talking about. Prussia did anyways. "Will Canada be different when he comes back?" He repeated France's question and the man nodded silently. Prussia hesitated to answer, eyes nervously flicking to the door Germany had left through before he responded. 

Honestly, he didn't want to talk about this with the man who had once destroyed his younger brother, but France wasn't the same man he had been back then, and this was for a friend, for Canada. So he braced himself and answered, frostiness completely gone from his tone. 

"Some parts of him may be different, but his core personality will always be the same." He sighed softly, remembering his relief when he found the similaires between Germany and Holy Rome, that beyond the subtle differences, his brother hadn't changed, thatbhe was still the same person as before. 

He met France's eyes, seriously. 

"Canada will definitely be the same person that we know and love." France smiled tearfully with relief. 

"Merci."


	22. A painful dream

America didn't know when he fell asleep. One moment he was closing his eyes, and when he opened them, he was sitting on a cloud, looking down at all of North America, the blue of Quebec rebeliously standing out against the American flags. 

"Hey."

America would recognize that soft spoken voice anywhere. The hand fell softly on his shoulder, America could see it, almost feel it, but that was impossible. Because the owner of that hand, the wearer of the tan sleeve ruffed with fur, was gone. "Ah, so it's a dream." Still he didnt try to look at the other's face, afraid of what he might see. The country settled next to him, gazing out over the land, feet dangling over the edge of the cloud. "It's beautiful, eh?" The other country continued, calmly, kicking his dangling feet a little in the swirling mists. "We can call it The US, Eh?" He laughed at his own joke, mirthfully, but America wasn't amused. "That's not funny." He cut in hoarsely, eyes glittering with emotions. 

The other country sobered up. "But it is beautiful." America wanted to argue that it wasn't beautiful, that the lands were damaged and bloodstained, and ravaged by war, but something inside him, the country in him, understood the concept. Because his land really was beautiful. From where he was sitting, he could see it all, his lands, his states, even the land he had claimed from Canada, and it was beautiful. He stumbled around for an answer, but finally threw caution to the wind, asking the question that was burning him from the inside. "Why wont you come back?" The words tumbled out, one after another, like an avalanche. "I know you can, if you wanted too, you have your land, and your name, so why?" 

The country beside him didn't respond. When he did, there was a faint whisper of loneliness in his tone. "I'm scared." America nearly fell off the cloud. "Why?" but even as he asked the question, the answer came to him. What could scare Canada, a country so steadfast and unshakable? Even in the war of 1812, or when he fought with England against America for his independence, he hadn't been scared. He'd treated America's independence as a chance to prove himself, that he wasnt still a child. And while he had been betrayed when America attached him, he hadn't once been scared.

So why now? The answer was obvious. The same way America would have felt if he found himself in Canada's position, if one of his states went independent and tried to conquer everything around. Canada answered the question anyways. 

"Québec is going too far. You have to stop him." 

What? Stop Québec? How could Canada ask that of America, after what he'd done to his brother? He turned quickly, forgetting his resolve not to meet the other's face, and blue eyes met violet. Had his brother's eyes always been so clear? America faltered. Canada wore the same look he had worn when he had told America he would go independent with England's blessing. America had pitied his brother's naïvity at the time, but Canada had done it, just as he said he would. This was the look of one who would not give up.

Still, America refused the burden Canada was trying to place on him. "You want me to go against him seriously?" He asked disbelieving. Canada knew why America asked that. "Not destroy him. Just stop him." He gazed back out over the land below. "He's still so young, he's still learning. I cant take that away from him just yet." There was a wistful tone in Canada's voice as his spoke, one America couldnt ignore. As though Canada knew something America didn't. "Mattie.." He wheedled, concern growing in his stomach.

Canada turned to face him once more. "America is a strong country." His brother's voice was even softer than normal. "Quebec is little and has no power of his own so to speak of. He can't beat America." America shook his head, denying the words, refusing to hear them even as Canada spoke. "But how can the people win if the country himself doesnt want to?" America's ears didn't listen to his brain, and registered the words anyways. He knew what Canada was saying. 

"You're only losing because you've chosen not to win."

With Canada's words came a weight, settling onto America's shoulders heavily, as though to crush him. He shook his head again, desperately, squeezing his eyes shut. 

"Dont make me do this Mattie." 

Canada's response was a breath on the air. 

"I'm only asking for a favour." 

When America opened his eyes again, he was laying on his back on the forest floor, a large white owl perched on the branch above his head. America cursed.

"Dammit!"


	23. What It Means To Lose a Brother

America was mulling over Canada's words when he heard the stick crack behind him. He reached for his gun, silently priming it, but didn't turned until the footsteps were closer. Then, without warning, he jumped up, aiming his gun at the enemy country. 

"Oi, Mate!"

America lowered the gun, and scowled at the sudden appearance of Australia, beaming, and crunching an apple. "What do you want?" America hissed, the words cold and unfriendly, still smarting from Australia's last betrayal. Australia pointed to the tree, where the owl was fast asleep, head tucked under its wing. "Québec sent me to retrieve this little bugger." He explained happily. "He supossed to help us find Canada when he comes back." Australia added finding a stick to prod the bird with. "Besides," Australia added, despite the fact America hadn't asked, "Without him Québec gets real jittery, y'know?" 

Something about Australia's constant cheery attitude, as though he hadn't participated in helping steal America's lands from him only a few days before, was pissing America off, growing into something nasty in his throat. "Wake up you bloody bird!" Australia jabbed the owl with the stick. The owl woke up with a disgruntled flapping, descending to Australia's shoulders before digging his talons in and going back to sleep. America tried to bite back his anger. Australia meant well, he hadn't sold out Texas to Mexico for no reason... 

The thought of the states Mexico had stolen from him only made America madder. Australia, oblivious to the mood, made the mistake of turning cheerfully to America and saluting happily. "Well, good luck in the war mate! Try not to lose!" And that was all it took for America to snap. America whirled on him suddenly, angrily. "This is serious! It's not some sort of fun activity!" He growled furiously. 

"I know that!" Australia responded, bemused and a little hurt. America knew by his expression that he didn't understand. "I lost my brother. Canada is gone, why can't you understand?" America snapped, watching Australia's face for any sign of understanding. Australia still seemed confused. "I lost a brother too, mate." Australia responded, but his words lacked any pain, as though he was saying he'd lost his hat. Australia's next words told America why. 

"But we're going to bring him back, right? So what's the issue?" For the first time, America seemed to understand what Australia didn't understand. Australia was younger than America, and had less relations with other countries. Much like America, Australia had never seen a country dissapear, but unlike America, he hadn't experienced it. Australia didn't have the same bond with Canada as America had, and hadn't felt it. Australia simply didn't understand what it meant for a country to be "gone."

America felt a sinking feeling in his gut as he realized this. To Australia, Canada may as well have been on an extended vacation. The reason Australia didn't understand his brother's pain, the reason he never doubted he'd see Canada again, all of it was because of this. America's heart began to sink as he realized that Australia was the scariest foe he'd fought so far.

Because Australia didn't understand what it meant to lose a brother, for a country to disappear, Australia wouldn't hesitate to destroy America with the same attitude as "I can bring him back later." Australia took advantage of America's hesitation to disappear into the shrubbery with the sleeping owl still bobbing on his shoulder.

America realized his life may very well be on the line.


	24. A Secret Descision

Québec was glad that France was missing in action, and apparently England was still in his room, supposedly suffering an intense hangover, or that's what Québec assumed, after hearing how much England had drank the night before. Either way, it was convenient for Quebec that there was no one around to see when the Quebec armed forces sucessfully smuggled a suspicious figure a cross the border, a difficult feat, considering how America had tightened his defenses around the remaining provinces. It was only due to the outside cooperation of some countries that were friendly with his brother that Quebec was able to safely sneak this final country into the Quebec-Canadian confederation, and even when he did it was too the farthest East area he could, the coast of Newfoundland.

The new arrival entered into the room quietly following Québec's boss, and Québec could feel his brother's sharp eyes seizing him up, but he couldn't get angry, not when he knew how much effort this country had gone through in order to come to this location, even for only a few hours. Québec's boss cleared his throat, pulling the forms from the desk without further ado, the occasion that should be feeling bright and exciting instead feeling somber and apprehensive.

Australia watched with bright eyes as Quebec's boss signed the papers somberly, then passed them to Québec, who was uncharacteristicly silent and though he tried not to show it, Australia could tell he was nervous by the sweat stains under the teen's armpits, and the air was thick with tension. 

Quebec signed the papers stiffly himself, and then, without a word, passed them to Seychelles, who also signed, breathing a breath of relief, before passing them to Australia who grinned with delight as he signed himself, before passing it to the third and final country to sign. Hong Kong, still travel weary and jet-lagged, still had a gleam in his eye as he muttered an indiscernable phrase under his breath as he signed. 

"So that it then, huh?" Australia broke the silence and the tension with his carefree tone. "It's official?" Seychelles seemed to register it for the first time, face lighting up, and silent tears tracking their way down his face. "Canada..is coming back." She whispered, overcome with emotion. Quebec's boss took up the duty of reading the document aloud, but the only words that Québec heard clearly was "The République du Québec hereby succeeds the afore mentioned provinces to be known from here-on out as the country of "Canada." 

For a moment, nothing happened. Unlike at Quebec's recognition there was no cheering peoples, so sudden feeling of power, just a silence. All eyes turned to Québec, as though knowing that the answer lay with him. Québec felt a growing knot of frustration growing in his throat, suffocating him, as he realized that he didn't have an answer to provide. Hong-Kong broke the silence first. "Maybe he won't come back without all his lands." He offered, stifling a yawn. Australia nodded thoughtfully. "We do still need Alberta, British Columbia, and Manitoba." He agreed. 

"Besides, if we bring him back without all his province's, he might be different than before!" Australia cheerfully spoke the concept everyone had been trying to ignore. That, even if they brought Canada back, he might not be the same person as before. There was only one country who had been completely wiped out and came back, and that country had no memory of the occurrence. Only France and Prussia knew the answer to this question, but neither had Shard it with any of the countries in the room. 

Seychelles drooped, a spark seeming to go out of her. Hong-Kong remained quiet, but there wasa questioning look in his eyes that betrayed a deep u ease as he watched Australia's comptemplative expression. Australia stood in his usual easy going way, his tone had remained casual when he spoke, but there was a doubt in his eyes that was bordering on fear. For the first time, Australia began to doubt if Canada would come back. For a moment the mood in the room was somber.

Then, Québec titled and dropped to the floor, unconscious. 


	25. Remembering What's Been Forgotten

By the time England woke up, he was the only one left in Montreal. America and France were gone, though at least France had left a note that only said he was going to "check something". Which wasn't very informative. Australia was nowhere to be seen, which was probably for the better, because England's head was pounding. In fact, his head was hurting so hard he almost missed the blurry form next to the bed.

In a moment, England went on high alert. He didn't need a wand for magic of course, but he'd prefer to have it to help him direct his spells. As it was, he was wandless, alone, and hungover, which was never the best way to face a spirit. Still, he managed to get out of bed elegantly and cautiously make his way across the room, putting more distance between him and the form without ever showing his back. England was not afraid, he'd dealt with Fae and spirits, malicious or otherwise, many times before. He fixed his piercing eyes on the blurry form testingly.

"I don't believe I've made your acquaintance." As a proper British gentleman, it was only natural to maintain his civility, even in front of a spirit. There was a sound, barely a whisper, and it made England's blood freeze. " _Arthur."_ England was certain he'd never given his name to a Fae or spirit before, neither human nor country, so that left him with two very alarming questions. If this was neither Fae nor spirit, then what was it? And how did it know his name? England tensed, but kept his voice casual as he responded. "Might I have your name?" 

The room went silent, and England couldn't shake the feeling that the spirit expected England to know his name, more than that, England felt like perhaps he did. There was something pricking at the inside of his skull, and his hangover headache grew to a migraine. England bit back a whine as he tried to focus, wincing under the pain, and then flinched. The blurry form was in front of him now, stretching an appendage towards him, and England barely had time to notice, to see the fuzzy form morph into what looked like a blurry hand, before he felt the cool touch on his forehead. 

England hissed and stepped back, putting distance between him and the form, away from the danger, glaring, and almost shouted a spell to retaliate when he froze. His headache had stopped pounding, but he barely noticed this as the form that had seemed static and blurry before seemed to grow a little more solid, features becoming more defined. The form brought a name to his lips, and then anger. How dare this being take the form of America? Was that touch meant to steal a form from his memories? England was infuriated. He was already forming the words to cast the spell to reveal the true form, then stopped. 

The spirit was watching him with a small smile, as though he'd seen something sad, but cute, like an orphaned puppy. There was a familiar feeling to the smile that made England remember something he hadn't even realized he'd forgotten until this point, and when he did, the name slipped out before he could stop it.

"Mathew?"

And then England remembered everything. _A young man, dissolving into dust. A cry, inhuman sounding, ripping from his own throat. A desperate need to keep him here, to freeze time. A spell that shouldn't have been cast, and the power it drained from him. A white bird, shooting into the sky._ England raised his hand to his cheeks and found tears running down them, but hardly cared. He met the eyes of the spirit he'd trapped, a country that no longer existed. Canada's eyes looked sad and tired as he met England's. 

“Canada." England said the name reverently. The spirit quirked his lips in return, but then his face turned serious. Again, the spirit spoke, and his voice was so faint that England had to strain to hear the words. 

"England, it's time to let me go."

England felt the blood drain from his face.


End file.
